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Halo: Ad Infinitum/Falling in Line
Leaves spun randomly in their descent to Requiem’s forest floor, falling through clouds of green haze hanging in the low spaces between trees. Thick roots snaked from the trunks of the venerable giants far above the ground, weaving together in a network of bridges and arches which in turn made purchase for vines and hanging ferns to grow. But as tight-knit as they were, the trees’ enormous scale left plenty of room for eight Spartans to pass by on foot. Their armor softly clanking as they stole through the underbrush, the soldiers moved in loose formation, the soles of their heavy boots sinking into the loam with every step. At a relaxed, but cautious pace, each was able to navigate the maze of foliage on their own, but stay well within one another’s range if trouble were to present itself. Just as the frontrunners reached the precipice of a steep hill, their leader, clad all in grey, signaled a halt, stepping under the shadow of a giant, wide-capped mushroom as the rest of the squad found places of their own to hide. “Something’s not right.” Sarah Palmer murmured, heard clearly through the helmets of every Spartan. “The rendezvous point is two hundred meters away, but Castle was supposed to beat us there. Why am I not seeing FOF tags?” “Could be interference.” one of the scouts suggested. His white and blue helmet turned to glance at his partner. “Who knows how this place could be messing with our gear?” “Over this short a distance?” the other, Dyne, asked. “Anything’s possible.” Kodiak asserted, gazing back out over the edge of the slope. “Especially on a Forerunner planet.” Palmer kept still for another moment, staring into the dark valley beyond before motioning to the leader of Fireteam Compass, the other five Spartans with them. “Harland, open up a short-range channel. Wide-band. See if you can raise them.” The Spartan nodded, his grey-and-orange Recruit helmet poking out from behind the huge leaf he’d ducked under, and bowed his head to start typing in commands on a wrist keyboard linked to his Heads-Up Display. The scouts, meanwhile, stayed crouched at the top of the hill, scanning the fog choking the forest below. “There’s always the obvious reason they haven’t shown up yet.” “Nah, they’ve got Tashi on Castle. Worst the Covenant can do is slow ‘em down.” While she appreciated their optimism, Palmer otherwise made a point of ignoring the pair on loan from Ion Team. The SPARTAN-III units on Infinity always demanded to be called "Team" instead of "Fireteam," a tiny detail that they seemed to think set them apart somehow, which she disliked. Small as it might be, the distinction separated the generations of Spartans and interfered with how they worked together. She'd tried to petition Spartan Branch to order the change, but the Twos and Threes would have none of it, and stubborn in their old ways let resentment set in more easily. The pair of young Gamma-Threes with her today were notoriously chatty, but fortunately she only had to bear listening to them for a few moments until Harland turned his head back up. “Got a signal. It’s faint, but it’s definitely them.” “Clean it up, and tighten the bandwidth. I don’t want any hinge-heads listening in on my Chatter calls.” Palmer said, keeping up a businesslike tone as the familiar feeling of anticipation set in. The team had spent too long on edge trekking through this alien forest, waiting for the moment the Covenant or a group of Prometheans would melt out of the trees, and with Castle’s absence, it seemed closer than ever. It was something Palmer hadn’t felt for quite a while. Though she’d overseen dozens of ops in the few days since they’d returned to Requiem, this was the first time she was on the ground herself with the intention of taking part in combat. Apart from one time providing a security detail for a superior officer, the last time she’d really needed to put on her good armor was Dratheus V. And playing bodyguard for some REMF, even if it had been Tom, didn’t count. That time had been in this very jungle, when the Infinity first landed on Requiem. With an attack on the ship by Banshees and dropships thundering right over their heads, they’d deployed to the surface and suddenly found themselves surrounded by Prometheans materializing in every shadow. As her teams were gunned down by blazing orange fire, they’d locked themselves in a tiny bunker of the Forerunners’ own make for what little safety they might’ve thought it would offer. She forced that memory back down before she could fully recall it. As bad as it was to be distracted by the anticipation of battle, it was worse than useless to add cursing at herself for past mistakes. She had to be the one to stay focused and think things through like a superior officer, like the ones she’d so often derided as a Helljumper, no matter how much she’d rather just get into the fight. A small square popped up in the left of her HUD once Harland was done with the link, and Palmer’s COM began transmitting. “Deming, what’s your status? I’ve got Compass and Ion at the RV, but no sign of you, over.” The square that normally facilitated a video feed remained blank, and in the lull that followed, the boys continued talking idly with just enough consideration to stay mildly hushed. “Why is it we're all supposed to be equal ranked in Spartan branch, but we still have Commanders and team leaders like you, anyway?” “Well, I did save the whole of Japan by taking down a supercarrier.” “You had a HAVOC. And plenty of help.” The pair fell silent again when the earpieces of the whole squad clicked, meaning someone had just patched into their TEAMCOM. Electric-sounding pulses from close-flying plasma bolts accompanied the Castle team leader’s exhausted voice. “Deming here, we read you. Sorry Commander, we couldn’t shake the Covies and got driven off the rendezvous point.” “That’s alright, Castle. How many of them are still on you?” “Two Elite squads, ma’am, and they haven’t tried cutting us off themselves, so Prometheans could show up any time.” “Keep moving and try not to get cornered. We’ll back you up as soon as we can see where you are.” Palmer said, trying to reassure him with a calm voice. Switching to another COM channel, she queried the mission advisors still sitting aboard Infinity. “Miller, I need you to get a fix on Fireteam Castle’s location and mark any hostiles close by. Make it quick, Spartan.” To her surprise, unless her usual second in command’s voice had abruptly gone up an octave, it wasn’t Miller that answered her. “Targets have already been located and tagged, Spartan Palmer. Relaying the information to your local suit hard drives now.” The way Ion Team perked up, Palmer didn’t have to guess that it was their handler, Lieutenant Coney. It bugged her at times, having someone who didn’t wear the armor of a Spartan bossing them around, but Erin’s teams rarely had a problem completing the objectives they were given, so there wasn’t much to complain about. But the way Ion Team was so quick, so eager to respond to her, while they weren’t the least bit reverent in the presence of any other superior, seemed to rub her just slightly the wrong way. A transparent map of their local square on the grid Infinity had mapped over Requiem’s inner surface appeared in Palmer’s HUD, overlaying her entire field of vision. Taking the details in in a flash, she saw herself, Fireteam Compass, and Team Ion labeled at one point while Castle was marked some distance away, with two clusters of red dots crawling close behind them. It seemed, however, that as fast as she sized up the information, the Spartan-IIIs had already finished and were planning the next move without her say. “Look, there’s a high point that’ll be within our weapons range of the split-lips in a couple minutes that we could use to get the jump on ‘em.” “Getting there in time’ll be a challenge, but I bet we can make it sprinting. Not like it’s Gregor Canyon.” Palmer spotted their point of interest a split second later, and agreed that it might make a good vantage unless the foliage there didn’t give them any convenient cover. Maybe if Compass engaged directly and pinned them down first . . . but just as she was mulling the idea over, something got through her filter of them that made her realize they weren’t addressing her at all. “Erin, tell Castle we're just over the next ridge and we’ll take some of the heat off them soon.” “Have to move fast, better prep those grenades while we’re running!” Before Palmer could even react, the Spartan-IIIs had jumped up and thrown themselves out beyond the crest of the hill, sliding down on the moist earth of the embankment with rifles drawn. Once they hit the bottom, both took off running without so much as a glance backwards. “Hold your positions, Ion!” Palmer shouted into TEAMCOM after them. “Goddamn it, that’s an order! Specialists–” After a moment it was obvious those kids weren’t going to come back when they were called. As she gritted her teeth, Harland asked her the same question she was asking herself now. “What do we do, ma’am?” There was no time to think it through, now. They had to exploit the element of surprise as much as possible before Ion Team gave it away, and suddenly Commander Palmer didn’t have to deal with the last tense minutes of tactical planning before combat. Only now did that time feel important to her. Tightening her grip on the handle of her assault rifle, she motioned forward with her left gauntlet and let her well-honed soldier’s instinct take over. “We’ll move up through the low points and cut off the hinge-heads’ retreat once Ion has their attention, then Castle can double back and flank in for the kill. Let’s move, Compass!” ---- Two Pelicans returned to the Infinity some time later, heavy-laden with armor-clad Spartans. Sliding through the bubble-like oxygen retaining wall that stretched across the mouth of the hangar, the dropships hovered inside and were directed by ground crews and the ship’s AI, Roland, to touch down on one of the pads inlaid in the steel-plated deck. Both craft had to rotate their entire wing assemblies to maneuver at such low speeds, making them look like awkward birds as their thrusters swiveled. Then the wheel-tipped armatures of their landing gear made contact with the deck, and they settled in gracefully to rest, as still as fallen feathers. Harsh, sterile light abruptly flooded the dropships’ troop compartments as their hatches cracked open, the complete darkness that had ruled before recoiling into the smallest corners before it. With their visors automatically compensating, however, the Spartans inside didn’t need to even blink. As soon as it was lowered, Commander Palmer strode down the boarding ramp in her sleek, grey Scout armor with her helmet pointed high, not even acknowledging the members of Infinity’s science staff that crowded around her and began to scan the surface of her armor for any harmful radiation or toxins she might have brought back with her. While it was a pet peeve of hers that the eggheads were allowed to walk around freely in what should have been the Spartans’ private space aboard, it was them she had to thank for the technical expertise that kept their complex armor, equipment, and even their augmented bodies maintained. In turn, Palmer’s Spartans were responsible for keeping the science teams safe while they carried out research missions on Requiem’s surface, so it was a symbiotic relationship she had to accept. Still, it bothered her having so many clever little toothpicks around, with each one of them smart enough to make her look like a Neanderthal. She’d hated it since getting constantly shown up in secondary school, and she wasn’t about to let one of them correct her grammar when a Scattershot-wielding Promethean was in her face. When they were satisfied she wasn’t going to make the whole ship have to go into quarantine, Palmer was happy to step aside and let the first of Castle Team disembark behind her. She glanced over briefly to the other dropship, where Dyne and Kodiak were departing to be met by four military policemen that would take them to the brig, once their MJOLNIR had been disassembled. Their visors turned to shoot her what she expected were a couple resentful looks, but they didn’t phase her any more than the light did. Their operation today had been a complete success. Castle had taken out a number of AA guns and allowed Fireteam Crimson to extract an artifact that the Covies and Prometheans had been keen on protecting, while to top it all off, none of the teams had taken a single casualty during Castle’s rescue. The only S-IIIs on the op had been the only problem to crop up. It wasn’t the first time she’d had them sent to the brig. It was, however, the first time for something as serious as disobeying an order. The minor infractions before, tinkering unauthorized with vehicles and armor, she’d been willing to let them off with a time-out. But blatantly ignoring her in the field amounted to insubordination, and that she wouldn’t tolerate. Yet, when she’d referred them to Infinity Command for court-martial, the response had been they’d be confined for just twenty-four hours. Palmer knew then somebody had to be covering for them, and just who it had to be. Spotting a flash of red between the white labcoats and grey body armor, Palmer stalked across the hangar with her heavy boots making sharp clacks against the deck. Her fists clenched and her posture rigid, there wasn’t an egghead or Spartan out of armor that would’ve risked getting in her way, and those near to her took it upon themselves to clear the beeline she was making. As the crowd parted ahead of her, Palmer confirmed that the color she’d seen was the red and black of a form-fitting bodysuit. Erin Coney stood by the fender of a transport Warthog, her head intently bowed over a tablet, not even acknowledging the legions of techs or the diesel-powered Mammoth crawling by only a few meters away. Her shoulder-length hair, black with just the first few strands of grey, hung down around her face, making it even less likely that any of the passing crew members of the Infinity would interrupt her. But however busy she was pretending to be, Palmer intended to have her make time to talk. Towering at least a head over Erin in her armor, Palmer approached from out of the Mammoth’s shadow and asked, “Could you keep your freaks under control?” Erin looked up, her bangs drawing back to reveal narrowed, hard blue eyes. “Excuse me?” “I just found out somebody countermanded my order for Spartans Kodiak and Dyne to be court-martialed, and the only one who would care enough to go that far for them is you. You’re covering for them, Lieutenant, so if you’re not going to let them take the punishment they deserve, the least you could do is keep them in check in the first place.” “They’re not the first ones to be charged with insubordination, Commander.” Erin said. She matched the stare of Palmer’s visor undaunted. “A day or two in the brig is punishment enough. Discharge is a bonehead call, just like the Master Chief knew Del Rio was making a bonehead call leaving Requiem before, just like you knew Major Silva was making a bonehead call on Tribute. I’m just making sure they’re not thrown aside because you can’t think of a better way to deal with them.” Her mention of Tribute surprised Palmer. She’d been told ONI was classifying her CSV when she joined the Spartan-IV Program, but she wouldn’t let Erin use it against her. “This isn’t about me, Coney, don’t try bringing my record into it. I don’t know how you’ve been interfering for them, but I don’t think even you know why anymore. Those two disobeyed a direct order out there, and that’s over anybody’s line.” “Of course this is about you. The reason they aren’t listening to you is because you haven’t earned their respect. Hell, I’m surprised almost anyone on board follows your orders the way you still think like a trigger-happy Helljumper.” “You let those kids treat the motor pool like a box of Legos, and you want to lecture me on how to act?” Erin almost laughed. “You think I’m letting them do this? They’re teenagers. What can you expect? Besides, do you want to let two people with that much strength and that little control out into a civilian setting?” She was right there, at least. Their youth and augmentations made a court-martial out of the question. Palmer sighed, sounding disgusted. “This is why they quit using children for the Spartan-Fours. Silva was right that they’re freaks, at least.” “When you start making child soldiers, you still end up with children.” Erin said evenly, trying not to be defensive. “But they’re not supposed to be leading every Spartan on Infinity. I’m not saying they’re any better, but if you’d give them a reason to believe you’re their superior beyond just telling them to kill a target, then they’d trust your judgment better than their own and fall into line, and we wouldn’t have this problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there’s going to be some paperwork I’ll have to deal with on your account.” “Dismissed.” Palmer said, even as the Lieutenant started to move. It may have been petty, but she was going to have the last word in, even if it was just one word. She gritted her teeth as Erin walked away and disappeared into the crowd of Infinity personnel. With a grunt of irritation, she started walking another direction towards the S-Deck Armor Bay. What was she going to do about those damn Spartan-Threes? She wasn’t good at the touchy-feely crap, she left talking to the eggheads and shot most of her problems. But apparently, brute force wasn’t going to solve this one, and sending them up the chain of command wasn’t an option anymore. As the commander of the single largest Spartan Branch deployment, she was where the buck stopped now. Then a thought occurred to Palmer that made her grin. Erin said the pair had to see her being superior to them, then they’d trust her. Well, she knew just how to do that, and it’d play right to her strengths. ---- “–just hear me out on this. Look at the head structure.” “No way, man.” The bare steel walls of Infinity’s brig made Dyne’s voice echo in the small cell. “I get where you’re coming from, but you’re just wrong on this one.” Kodiak ignored his dismissive tone. “They’re mandibles, just like an ant. And the way they swarm? Crawlers aren’t canines, they’re insects.” “So they have pincer heads, so do plenty of mammal-like species on Harvest. But Crawlers don’t swarm, they run in packs. And look at the way their legs are built, the way they run. How they pounce.” The discussion on semantics was abruptly ended when the cell’s door opened, revealing Commander Palmer as her hand dropped away from the keypad. She had her helmet cradled under one arm, and stepped inside to silently regard the brown-haired boys face-to-face as the soundproof door slid shut behind her. At the same time, Palmer knew, the pair were sizing her up as well, and she carefully maintained a stony, stern expression to present. “You two have added up to one big pain in the ass since you stepped on board.” She said, her infamous knack for diplomacy showing itself. “Damaging and dismantling military property, interfering with War Games by screwing with the holo-projectors, hacking into the ship’s database–” “Whoah, hang on.” Kodiak interrupted. “Not even Roland could identify who that was. You can’t just assume it was us.” “Well Coney got a hold of my file somehow, and you two fit the bill for qualified computer experts with ties to her.” Dyne got to his feet, eager to argue. “Which still doesn’t prove we were the ones who did it.” “Then what’s my middle name?” she asked. “Jane.” Dyne answered quickly, catching the point of her question just a moment too late. “Aw, crap.” “Busted. Stay out of personnel records from now on.” Neither of the boys responded, leaving the soundproofed room in silence again as Palmer brushed past them, crossing the short distance to the cell’s back wall. “Is this really all the Spartan-Three program has to show for itself? You two knuckleheads sitting in a brig? I’m almost tired of seeing you in here.” Dyne crossed his arms. “Well, you’re the one who made that call, so if we’re really in your way, just let us out.” “But that’d just be too easy, wouldn’t it? Besides, I wasn’t the one who decided to run right out after the Covenant without waiting for the rest of your team and commanding officer.” “Hey, I remember my kill tally being higher than yours on the flight back, Commander. Guess our approach worked better.” Dyne said, and as soon as he had, Palmer knew she had them. “Is that so? Well, if you really think you can fight better than me, why don’t you prove it?” That piqued the pair’s interest. While they watched curiously, Palmer glanced to the small holo-tank mounted on the wall, the only break in the otherwise flat surface, and said loudly, “Roland. I want you to tell Doug-103 to clear the Training Deck, I’m reserving it for a private match between myself and Spartans Dyne and Kodiak.” A yellow hologram flashed into being above the tiny projector, and the AI twisted its avatar to meet Palmer’s eye, purely as a courtesy. “Affirmative, Commander. And, who’s gonna be on your team?” “Just me, Roland. I could mop the floor with these teenagers any day.” The AI bowed his head in response, making the straps of his archaic flight headgear appear to sway. “Alright Spartan Palmer, one grudge match all cued up. What’s the War Game type going to be?” She looked up expectantly to the boys. Dyne was already grinning keenly, but Kodiak just shook his head with a friendly smile. “Commander, you don’t have to prove anything by going up against–” “Don’t even think about patronizing me, Specialist. I know how good I am,” she snapped. Taken aback, Kodiak glanced to Dyne to silently confer, and Palmer read the look that passed between them as quickly as she skimmed all of Miller’s tactical reports. “What are the stakes?” “You’ll get a ‘get out of brig, free’ card, for starters.” Palmer cast her eyes toward the ceiling, lingering as if in thought a moment longer. “Apart from that . . . bragging rights. And maybe a month’s latrine duty.” Kodiak’s grin widened into one of anticipation. “Okay, Palmer. You’re on.” ---- Palmer flicked her eyes from one dark corner of her HUD to another, paying close attention to her measured breathing simply because there was nothing else to pay attention to. The combat deck had blacked her visor out until it loaded the War Games’ simulated environment, since its technicians didn’t seem to like the participants getting a sneak peek as the hard light and elevated platforms were moved. Apparently it was something akin to a magician revealing his secrets. The second before being blinded, she had stood out in the open of the cavernous, empty holotank deep inside Infinity a few hundred meters opposite Dyne and Kodiak on the floor of the training deck. A second later, and she could be anywhere, on any of the pre-recorded battlefields stored in Infinity’s databases for keeping the Spartans conditioned. But aware of only what lay under her helmet, Palmer’s acute sense of time made the moment in between a challenge on its own to endure. Then the voice of Doug-103 hissed in her ear, and Palmer’s body tensed as the wait ended. “''Slayer''.” As the echo of his booming voice faded, her helmet filled with the lonely whistle of a sweeping wind that blew across the tower that appeared as Palmer’s visor flashed back on. Framework iron stairs and walkways loomed above the steelplate floor, and she could see by the strong shadows they cast that it wasn’t rust, but ruddy light that turned its color brown. Beyond the railed balcony shone a distant bloody star, and far below storms unfolded across the surface of a gas giant. She was on the outer surface of a ship, or supposedly another ship, orbiting the planet. Adrift. That was the shorthand for this setting. Taking no more time to admire Roland’s work with the scenery than to recognize where she was, Palmer entered a sprint and ducked between the scaffolds holding up the walkways, her steel gloves clenched around the grips of her assault rifle. Her mind was racing at a pace to match her legs as she turned and ran through a doorway on her left into the tower, trying to guess her opponents' thinking. What they could do, what they would end up doing, what she could do against it. Her path split again, down a wide corridor lining the wall on the left, and into the tower's atrium on the right. She chose the more confined corridor; if she ran into the two Gammas together, it was better to have a choke point than be caught out in the open. She grew more apprehensive as she quickly neared the corridor's end and found herself back outside on another platform. The distance would be about the same to Ion Team's starting corner, meaning one or both of them might be about to reach it at the same time as her. Palmer reigned in her pace and snapped her assault rifle up. There was nothing on her motion tracker, but Palmer didn't let her stance relax an inch until she'd verified with her own eyes that the hallway around the corner was clear. Trusting that Ion had taken their other path and she was alone for another minute, she glanced back over her shoulder to where an ordnance pod had fastened itself to the metal floor, creating a pedestal for the oversized sidearm that lay upon it. With a smile, Palmer snapped it up and doubled back the way she'd come. This time Palmer turned inside the atrium, and at last spotted one of her opponents. His armor an easily visible white and blue, Kodiak ran across a balcony on the other side of the room, which mirrored the platform on which Palmer stood. He was just about to disappear behind the column that stood in the square room's center. Taking careful aim, she fired off a few controlled shots, but they did nothing more than make the Spartan's shields flare gold. He made it behind the column, but before she lost sight of him, Palmer saw him turning to the bridge which led up to the pillar's top. Up there between the legs of a deactivated Cyclops, she knew, was an Energy Sword waiting to be picked up. She'd noticed Kodiak practicing with a mock-up of the Covenant weapon before, and knew that he was good enough with it to give her trouble. Fortunately, she had a way to deny it to him. Dropping her right hand away from the rifle's grip, Palmer drew the Remote Detonator from her thigh and raised it towards the column. She pulled its trigger, and a grenade soared up over the lip of the platform at its top. Flipping out the tiny launcher's screen, she waited for her target to appear. A red dot blinked onto one side of the motion tracker. She waited a moment, letting the dot near the screen's center where the grenade lay before pulling its trigger a second time to set the explosive off. A blast rang out from above, sending particles of smoke and fire over the platform's side. But for all its impressive look and sound, the explosion would only leave superficial scorchmarks on the holographic environment. Apparently in the minds of the War Games designers, modifying the environment mid-game might provide an unfair advantage somehow. Palmer just believed they said this to get themselves out of more work. No indication of a kill showed up on her HUD readouts, and she realized she must have detonated the grenade too early. Rather than blindly lob more up there and waste her power weapon's few precious shots, she set the Detonator back on its magnetic plate and prepared to go up herself. But before she could take a single step, brilliant yellow tracers sizzled by her head and splashed against her shielding. Glancing back to the other balcony, she saw Dyne had joined them and was now sending bursts of Battle Rifle fire her way. Tensing as her shield bar rapidly dropped, Palmer sprang forward on instinct instead of backpedaling for cover. She vaulted over the railing on her balcony's edge, and quickly dropped out of Dyne's line of sight behind a rack of tall rockets below. The landing forced a grunt out through her teeth. While Palmer's knees absorbed the shock well enough, such a drop might've still broken a normal man's legs. In her mind, that was the problem with having a physical training environment for the Spartans instead of some completely virtual field with neural jacks to plug into. There was still a certain risk of accidents. The sharp whistles of the BR85 ceased as Dyne could no longer see her, and Palmer took a moment to reload and fix another grenade on the Detonator's rail with her back pressed against her source of cover. Suddenly she was glad the techs hadn't been so detail-oriented, or else the Surface-to-Air Missile rack might've been an exceedingly poor choice of hiding places. Then heavy bootsteps pounded on the metal floor above. Palmer silently cursed as she realized that her cover wouldn't be so convenient for long. Placed between it and the wall, there were only two ways she could go, and in a moment, her two adversaries could have her cornered. She needed to move, and before those bootsteps caught up with her. A quick glance around revealed to her the warm orange glow of a gravity lift, set into the wall only a short distance away. Pushing off the missile rack's side, she vacated her cover not a moment too soon. Behind her, a familiar clink bounced off a wall and a floor. Then a wave of heat and overpressure buffeted her back as the frag grenade exploded. Her shield alarm blared more urgently in her ears. She neared the bottom of the lift, intent on the chance it would give her to get away and recharge those shields. But in her peripheral vision, she saw Kodiak step out from behind the central column. Without time to duck away from him, Palmer hastily aimed the assault rifle slung low in her arms and jammed its trigger down, even as Kodiak fired back with his own MA5C. Bullets permeated the air between them, a hailstorm of lead traded between both Spartans. Rounds hammered against strained energy shields, illuminating their outlines in brilliant gold light. Just as the pressure of so many hits would have overwhelmed hers, Palmer's boots left the floor and she was caught mid-jump by the lift, whisked safely upward into the shaft. Still ascending, she let her rifle's near-empty mag unlock and drift away in the airstream, replacing it with a fresh one. The moment she was swept back out into the second-floor hallway at its top, she landed smoothly and whirled around with the weapon up in case one of the Spartans had unwisely decided to follow her. Her shields may still have been low, but if Kodiak came up behind her, then Palmer would have the drop on him. One dot sat still on her motion tracker, dark red to indicate the contact was beneath her, and just far away enough for her to place it on the other side of the gravity lift. After a moment, it moved away and out of range, and Palmer allowed herself a breather as her battered shields recharged. Even while her body was relaxing, however, her mind was hard at work berating herself for how she'd handled their first round. She'd been acting too much on reflex, letting the instinctive aversion to pain, fear, to creep ever so slightly into her decisions. Not fear of losing, but the fear of humiliation that came with it. She was the commander of Infinity's Spartan contingent, and being bested by two disorderly teenagers would mean a loss of face in the eyes of her subordinates. Her own ego aside, that was absolutely unacceptable. She turned down the hall in the same direction as the contact on her motion tracker had gone. Going that way would mean meeting up with them again sooner, and she wouldn't allow them any more respite than she gave herself. Just then, she heard behind her the whoosh of air the grav-lift made when it was pushing something upward, and with a silent curse realized the Gammas had doubled back on her. Whirling, she spotted Kodiak skidding to a stop across the floor, his rifle already coming around to train on her, and Palmer leveled her own in turn. The hall suddenly filled with the clatter of two MA5Ds trading fire, muzzle flashes and tracer bullets lighting up the shadows of its industrial architecture. Knowing better than to stay put, both Spartans strafed sideways, circling as holographic bullets deflected off their flaring shields. But in the narrow hall, it was less than a second before they found cover against the walls, ending their furious exchange almost before it began. Seeing Kodiak disappear behind a stack of crates, Palmer rolled her back against the corner she'd reached at the end of the hall, and was about to slip away when a trio of rounds hit her shoulder. Startled, Palmer looked up to see the shape of Dyne's tan armor on the far balcony again, staring back at her through the scope of his battle rifle. More bursts crossed the distance between them. Knowing her MA5D couldn't hope to hit him from that range and the blaring alarm in her helmet warning her that her shields were close to giving out, she planted herself against the corner where the walls met, and had been rounded out a bit to be just shallow enough to keep her out of both lines of fire as rifle shots flew by her from both directions. Maintaining a cool head, Palmer let her half-empty mag drop to the ground and kept her weapon close as she reloaded, when a shout came from Kodiak that reached her helmet's audio pick-ups. "In kind of a tight spot, Commander?" The pounding gunshots ceased, the Spartan-IIIs holding their fire for when Palmer emerged. They would start getting smug about now, wouldn't they? she thought, cursing that she'd let herself get cornered. Then again, Palmer had got herself in trouble for mouthing off to a superior before. If she kept them talking, maybe it would keep them from thinking of lobbing a grenade at her feet. "Not as tight as squeezing into that little head of yours. So, is it true what they say about the Twos' and Threes' augmentations killing your sex drive?" "Whoah! Commander, you're not asking me out, are you?" Palmer chuckled, but not because of Kodiak. Her shield bar had just recharged to full. "Not when ducking under the radar is your best move." With that, she pushed off from the wall and bolted away, heading for a door across the hall that lead outside. A few assault rifle rounds pinged off her ankles and a burst of battle rifle glanced off her shoulder, but even combined the pair couldn't have loosed enough firepower to take her down in the brief second she was exposed. Glancing at her motion tracker, she saw the red dot representing Kodiak a few meters behind her, giving chase. She was at a slight disadvantage with the hit to her shielding strength, but at least he and Dyne would be separated for a moment. Looking up as she sprinted out from under the oppressively low ceiling, she spotted an ordnance drop right where she'd counted on, a pair of frag grenades laying atop it. Sweeping her hand down as she passed, Palmer looped her finger through one's ring, spun, and with her momentum threw it hard enough to pull the pin free when she drew her hand back. Running full-pelt as he emerged just a few steps behind her, Kodiak was caught in the middle of the blast as the grenade detonated, shrouded for an instant in smoke and fire. Palmer slung her rifle up to finish the unshielded Spartan-III off, but Kodiak reacted too quickly and lunged straight for her. Nearly a half-ton of MJOLNIR armor collided and sent both Spartans sprawling, sparks fizzling in place of their shorted-out shields. Grunting, Palmer tilted her head up and saw Kodiak doing the same, their visors meeting for an instant before both turned to one of the MA5Ds which had fallen between them. Kodiak made a grab for the weapon, but before his fingers could lock around it, Palmer swung a closed fist and batted the rifle to skitter away across the deck before rolling over to grab the one that had fallen to her other side. As she was reaching for it, a weight suddenly fell over her, and found Kodiak crawling across her to go for the same gun. "Sorry," he muttered as he tried to slide the rifle closer. Palmer's brow furrowed, and she shifted her attention to pushing the boy off of her just as Kodiak's gauntlet found purchase on the gun. Kodiak felt a leg curl up under his abdomen and made his stomach muscles rigid as an armor-synergized kick launched him upwards. As his sense of balance whirled, he swung one leg back and managed to come up on his feet, nearly juggling the MA5D that he'd pulled up with him. As he leveled it, however, he saw down its side that Palmer was aiming up at him with the sidearm she'd pulled off of his own thigh. The magnum coughed, and Kodiak's armor suddenly seized up, restricting him as the War Games computer registered that he'd been eliminated. The frenzy of adrenaline still coursing through her, Palmer continued to lay on the simulated floor as her first opponent toppled over. Soon, the training deck would drop him beneath the floor to be ferried away to avoid being trampled. Blowing a lock of amber hair that'd been pulled painfully out of place when her helmet was jarred, Palmer stood herself back up and grabbed her own sidearm in her other hand, aware that Dyne was still probably heading right for her. Just then, the slightly-accented voice of an older Spartan boomed throughout the map configuration: "Game over." "What?" Palmer instinctively looked skyward in surprise, and raised the game's administrator on her COM. "Oneohthree, we agreed that the match would be 'til a team was wiped out, not first kill." "That's affirmative, Spartan Palmer." Doug-103 answered unseen, voice coming directly through her helmet. "Both members of Team Ion have one tally in the Deaths column." "Sorry, sorry." Dyne broke in. "I was coming around to that corner from the other side, but the mancannon fell short on me. We're gonna have to recalibrate it again, Chief." As Doug responded that he was making a note of it, Palmer stood with her fists clenched around her pistols' grips. No. she thought angrily. She knew what would happen if it ended like this. Dyne and Kodiak could go back to their circle of S-IIIs, and say that if they hadn't been screwed over by a glitch, they wouldn't have lost. Palmer couldn't let it go like that. She needed to send them a clear message. "Doug." She spoke with quiet authority into her mic. "Give SPARTAN-G217 a respawn." The older Spartan didn't miss a beat. "With pleasure, Commander." Boop. Boop. Boop. BEEP. Somewhere, Dyne had just been shifted back to a random spawn point by the moving hard-light platforms hidden underneath the textures of the War Games map. Tightening her hands around the grips of her pistols, Palmer set out again to track him down and put an end to it. Corridors flew by in a blur, as her attention focused only on the doorways where at any moment Dyne might show himself. After she reached the other side of the entire map, however, she began to wonder if he'd taken the opposite path and completely missed each other. Flipping on an open COM, she boasted, "Come on, Dyne, there's no time limit to save you this time. Let's finish this." "Are you sure?" asked Dyne. His voice wasn't over COM, but helmet speakers. "I could let you run a few more laps." Palmer whirled, and spotted Dyne on the scaffold above her with his Battle Rifle already zeroed in. The first three rounds hammered against her shields, and Palmer threw herself sideways, taking cover behind one of the scaffold supports. She heard the rap of pounding boots on the deck above, and glanced at her motion tracker to see that he was running away. "Camping bastard." She growled, and set off after him. Looking up as she came out from under the scaffold, she saw Dyne's sand-brown armor disappear into a hallway above. On the wall beside it was a wide, sloping pipe, providing her an easy way up. Crossing to it, Palmer leaped five feet straight up and landed on its rounded top, balancing carefully. Her MJOLNIR GEN2 boots would automatically adjust to grip the surface, which left Palmer free to run up its steep side faster than most of the Helljumpers in her old unit could have run on a paved track. The moment she reached the top, an explosion of light and smoke blasted close enough to make her ears ring. For a split second, she thought Dyne had thrown a real grenade, but there had been no force behind it shaking her teeth. The computer was only simulating the event. White-hot tracers blazed through the smoke, and Palmer jumped to the wall on the other side of the walkway where a heavy crate sat, screening her from the SPARTAN-III's fire. The rifle bursts stopped as the last of the smoke cleared, and all noise faded away save the panicked beeping of her shield alarm and the synthesized howling of the wind. "Nice crate you've hiding behind, Commander." Dyne jeered. "Aren't you standing behind a wall in there?" "Uh . . . maybe." Palmer shook her head, fidgeting with the grips of her pistols. If this kept up, they'd just keep putting themselves in standoffs until one of them was lucky enough to get to a power weapon first. Better, she decided, to end it when they were on even footing. "Hey Dyne!" She yelled. "How about we get this over with a shootout?" "Come on, Palmer, you know I've got the faster trigger finger!" he shouted back. "Then what are you so worried about?" "I didn't want to win because you made a stupid call, but if you insist! Going on three?" "Three and then go." Palmer said, locking her fingers tightly. "So four." "Oh, for Stacker's sake. Even I don't make jokes that bad!" Dyne laughed all the same, and then, "Ready? One-two-three-go!" Dyne slipped out from the corridor's far corner, HUD already filling with the view from his smart-linked scope to give him the surest split-second aim, but didn't see Palmer come out from behind the crate. For a moment, he thought she'd lied and stayed behind it, but then a flicker of steel-gray movement caught his eye in the shaded peripheral vision outside his reticle. Palmer had climbed up on top of the crate and jumped, bringing both her pistols to bear on him. On instinct, Dyne ran forward to meet her rather than flinch, putting himself in her sights. As she flew down, he swung his battle rifle like a bat, knowing he wouldn't get a proper shot lined up in time. She landed, and Dyne's hit did as well, strong enough to break her energy shield. Palmer flinched, as if astonished by the hit. In the instant Dyne thought to apologize for actually hitting someone in a training match, Palmer wound up and returned the blow with a punch that sent him reeling. Pulling away from each other, the both of them turned and saw each standing without shields, and holding a weapon capable of killing with a single trigger pull. Fumbling a moment, each brought their weapon up frantically as they each tried to beat the other on the draw... ---- "I can't believe she shot you first." "Well I didn't exactly let her." Kodiak and Dyne were standing side by side several minutes later, staring up at a scoreboard with their shoulders slumped. Doug, as the War Games Deck's chief, had set it up so the wall of the pre-game lobby where they now stood could be used as a screen for projecting game stats. Palmer stood behind them, leaning on a weapons locker where they'd returned the training guns with crossed arms. A surge of triumphant energy was tugging one side of her mouth up in a smug grin that outdid any the boys had worn before, but her gray helmet was still on, hiding it. She let them sit in silence for a moment, then pushed off the locker and walked up behind them. She turned the pointed front of her Scout helmet up to follow their gaze as though she'd only just noticed the scoreboard. Tempting as it was to rub their faces in it, she just said, "I should go, but once you've got that armor off, I want you performing a full check-over of it. You'll be deploying to Requiem again soon enough, got it?" "Yes, Commander." they groaned in unison. There was no dutiful snap to attention or shouting force behind their words, but the chagrin after their defeat would be enough for today. They'd responded to the order without resisting. Already, her beating them was making a difference in their attitudes. At that point, Palmer's COM clicked with a hail from Infinity's ops center. Spartan Miller's face appeared in the corner of her HUD. "Commander, Fireteam Majestic's Pelican is on its return approach. They say they've got one wounded aboard." "I'll meet them in the hangar." she replied, and turned around to walk out of the War Games deck, boots clanking against the metal floor. She called back, "And you two, be sure to report to the mess sergeant to pick up those slots on the duty roster." Category:Demons of Hope